It was a true test to find the best three-year-old colt over a mile.
Satisfied that all was in order, and with the horse’s racecard number six showing clearly behind the saddle, Owen told his assistant and the stable lad to take Potassium through to the main parade ring while he walked on behind.
I went over to join him.
‘All good?’ I asked.
‘Perfect,’ he replied, totally relaxed.
And I found I was relaxed too. All that nervousness I’d experienced on Derby day at Epsom had not reappeared here. I realised it was because Potassium had already proven himself as a great horse. A win today would be the icing on the cake, but the cake was already assured, whatever the outcome. As long as he came home sound, I’d be happy.
Not that I didn’t want him to win.
I did. Desperately.
Most importantly, I didn’t again want Squeaky Voice believing that any loss was prearranged by me on purpose.
Nick Spencer was already in the parade ring, standing in a group with six other syndicate members, including Bill Parkinson, with me making up the maximum of eight paddock passes I had managed to acquire.
‘All set?’ I asked, joining them.
They all nodded, some of them showing obvious signs of nerves.
‘Gentlemen, we are going to enjoy this,’ I said. ‘Potassium has already done more than we could have asked of him. He’s an Epsom Derby winner. No one can ever take that away from him. If he wins today, then that would be great. If he doesn’t, well, he will have another day in another race.’
They all smiled at me, and some of the tenseness seemed to go out of their shoulders.
In a while, Jimmy Ketch joined us, wearing the Victrix silks.
‘No time to waste in this race,’ Owen said to him earnestly. ‘It’s only a mile, so we want a strong pace from the off, to sap the finish out of the sprinters. So jump him out of the stalls, and don’t be afraid of going immediately to the front. But don’t go mad. Keep enough in reserve to kick on again just before the two-furlong pole, after you’ve completed the turn into the final straight.’
‘Yes, guv’nor,’ Jimmy said.
The bell was rung, and Owen took Jimmy over to Potassium and gave him a leg up onto the horse’s back. There was now no more he could do.
As always when there was a large crowd, I stayed in the parade ring to watch the race on the large-screen TV. In the past, I had tried to get through to the owners’ viewing steps, only to be thwarted by the crush from seeing the race at all.
What is known as the ‘round course’ at Ascot is, in fact, triangular with rounded points, and the one-mile start was at the apex farthest from the grandstand, close to that part of the course known as Swinley Bottom.
Who Swinley was is a mystery lost in time, but the Bottom refers to the lowest part of the racecourse, some seventy-three feet below the finish line. It was the original site of a kennel established by Queen Anne to house the royal pack of hounds, known as the Buckhounds.
Potassium had been drawn in stall number two, and I watched on the big screen as he and the other seven runners were loaded without fuss.
‘And they’re off in the St James’s Palace Stakes,’ called the race commentator through the public address system as the gates snapped open.
Jimmy did as he was told and jumped Potassium out of the stalls fast, and he built a three-length lead in the first twenty strides. As they settled down, Potassium hugged the inside rail, going the shortest distance, and by the time he started the long turn into the finishing straight, he had extended his lead to five lengths, and the rest of the field were well spread out behind him, chasing hard.
Two of the other runners began to close round the turn, but Jimmy had indeed kept a little in reserve, and he kicked again as they straightened up, stretching the lead once more.
Within the last furlong, Potassium’s stride began to shorten as he tired, and the others started to gain on him. Then, in the last hundred yards or so, he began to paddle, with his head going up and down, but he had established enough of an advantage, and he managed to keep going, passing the winning post still a length to the good.
No need for a photograph this time. The result was clear for all to see.
‘First number six,’ called the judge.
That’s all I needed to hear.
The celebration in the parade ring around the winners unsaddling enclosure started even before the horse appeared, with most of the rest of the syndicate somehow having bypassed the men in bowler hats to gain entry, many of them with wives and partners in tow, all of them laughing and smiling.
It was moments like this that made up for all the disappointments, and in horseracing, there were lots of those.
Claire Spencer had made it in too, and she beamed at me.
After a few minutes, and accompanied by a fanfare from the trumpeters of the Household Cavalry, Potassium and Jimmy Ketch arrived through the tunnel into the ring and were led into the space reserved for the winner.
I went in there with them as everyone cheered.
Jimmy dismounted, removed his saddle, and then posed for press photographs with Owen, me, and the horse, with the other syndicate members waving madly in the background.
Jimmy then went off towards the weighing room, carrying his saddle and other equipment, including the weight cloth. Now all he had to do was weigh in at the same weight as he’d weighed out. Only then could the trophy presentation begin.
‘Horses away,’ shouted an official.
Potassium was led out, back towards the racecourse stables, now wearing his new rug with ‘Royal Ascot — Winner The St James’s Palace Stakes’ emblazoned on both sides.
‘Weighed in. Weighed in,’ was announced over the public address, and there were no triple tones indicating a Stewards’ Enquiry.
We had won. It was now official.
The forty-six-thousand-pound supplementary fee had been well spent.
As we waited for the presentation party to arrive, both Owen and Jimmy were interviewed by ITV racing. Then the cameras switched onto me.
‘Well done, Chester,’ said the interviewer. ‘So what’s next for Potassium?’
For the media, it was always about what’s next rather than what’s past.
‘We’re not quite decided yet. He’s entered for both the Eclipse at Sandown and the Sussex Stakes at Goodwood, and we’re also looking at the International Stakes at York in August.’
‘How about the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes back here next month?’
‘He’s been entered for that too,’ I said with a smile. ‘A multitude of riches. But we’ll have to see how he recovers after today.’
The presentation party was now ready, and I collected the St James’s Palace Stakes perpetual silver trophy from a senior member of the royal family on behalf of the winning syndicate, while Owen received a silver cup, and Jimmy a silver photo frame.
As we stood on the presentation platform for yet more press photographs, I could see someone in a yellow dress waving wildly from the viewing steps to my left.
It was Toni Beckett.
I waved back, smiling broadly.
The Racing Post journalist, Jerry Parker, was waiting for me outside the weighing room when I went to sign for the trophy.
‘The Victrix Racing feature will run in the paper this Thursday,’ he said. ‘When we knew Potassium had been supplemented for The St James’s Palace, we held it back, to see what happened in the race. I’ll now write the last bit.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I hope it’s all good.’